


Scatter Like the Stars

by getoffmyhead



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Astronaut AU, Developing Relationship, Geno the Engineer, M/M, Mission to Mars, Sid the Astronaut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-19
Updated: 2020-01-19
Packaged: 2021-02-26 08:05:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22321570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/getoffmyhead/pseuds/getoffmyhead
Summary: It's been nine months since mission control lost contact with the first manned mission to Mars. Logically, Zhenya should know that continuing to search is futile, but he refuses to give up hope. As long as there's a chance, he can't give up looking to bring Sid home.
Relationships: Sidney Crosby/Evgeni Malkin
Comments: 28
Kudos: 160





	Scatter Like the Stars

**Author's Note:**

> I feel weird posting something so very alternate universe, so I think I should say it again. No hockey here. Nobody plays professional hockey in this universe.

Three old men pull up chairs in a familiar tavern, a pattern of so many years of friendship. They order their same old drinks--Pavel beer, Samuel wine, and Vladimir two fingers of whiskey on the rocks--and they settle in to catch up, as they have every month for nearly two decades.

They chat about Pavel's new project car. "It's nothing but trouble," he complains, a grin pulling at his mouth because he loves the challenge of tearing the thing apart and putting it back together. "I'll probably sell the communist piece of shit," he continues, a blatant lie. He'll fix the transmission and find the fuel leak and have it painted by the next time they talk.

They move on. Samuel's youngest daughter just had her second child, Samuel's first grandson, which inspires a round of shots for congratulations. Samuel's three children are all girls. His daughters all have daughters of their own, but this is the first male child born into the family since Samuel himself.

"You'll have someone to relate to, in your old age," Pavel teases, and Samuel grumbles under his bushy mustache, looking delighted more than annoyed.

The talk of progeny brings them around to Vladimir.

"What is your youngest up to these days?" Pavel asks. The question would sound casual if he didn't know most of the story already--if they hadn't spent months talking about it and worrying. Pavel has no children of his own, so he fusses over Vladimir's and Samuel's as if he were their guardian, and of course, he worries most about Zhenya.

Vladimir's face goes flat, void of emotion but telling all the same. They know immediately that he has seen no improvement. Vladimir takes a long pull of whiskey before he sighs. "He's preparing for a trip. Up into the Urals."

"Why? He doesn't get enough snow here?" Samuel jokes, trying to lighten the mood until he sees the stricken look fall over Vladimir's expression. Then he sobers.

"He says he will get a better signal there, at one of the peaks," Vladimir says into the rim of his glass. "It will let his message travel farther."

Pavel bows his head and pats Vladimir's shoulder in sympathy. "My friend," he begins, approaching the fraught subject gingerly. "It's been a year--"

"Nine months," Vladimir corrects gruffly.

"Nine months with no word. I feel for Zhenya, you know I do, but isn't it about time he moved on?"

"He's a grown man," Vladimir says, but his friends know he must have tried. He's not the kind of person to give up on his family without a fight, to sit by and watch a loved one descend into madness.

A year ago, Zhenya had a prestigious job in Florida, working on the space program there. He had many friends, colleagues, people he trusted. He had a whole life. Samuel and Pavel know how it has hurt Vladimir to watch Zhenya crumble, raving about signals and frequencies, barely making any sense. And that's when he can be prompted into speaking at all. Mostly, he keeps to himself.

But they also know the reason for Zhenya's manic attitude. The boy has always been headstrong, focused. For something so important, they know it must be impossible to sway Zhenya from his self-destructive path.

"I can speak with him if you like," Pavel offers. He is Zhenya's godfather, after all. Perhaps his voice, added to the mix could help to sway him. "Try to convince him to move on."

"No. You won't be able to any more than I have. It's what he needs to do."

"He needs to understand they lost contact with the ship."

Vladimir's gaze is sharp, reproachful. "You think he doesn't understand that?"

"I think he understands objectively, but he hasn't internalized what it means. It's eating him up. He needs to let himself let go."

"That's not an option for him. He can't."

"Why?"

"Because--he thinks it's possible they're still alive, some of them."

"My friend, that is ludicrous. The smartest scientists in the world worked for that program. If they thought there was a chance, they would be the ones looking--"

"He's done the math," Vladimir says with weight behind his words. "They had provisions for three years. If they didn't lose everything. Or if they grew enough on Mars to replace their destroyed stores, they could still be out there. He can send someone to get them, bring them home."

Pavel sits back, stunned. "You believe him," he says in awe.

Vladimir sips his drink and finally shrugs. "I don't know what to believe happened to that ship. But I choose to believe in my son. And I know, until he thinks there is no possible way to bring them home, Zhenya won't give up."

*****

It takes Zhenya eight hours to trek up the mountain to the disused shack he's arranged to take over. It was built as part of an environmental effort, a study on snowmelt in the region. When he found out the previous researcher had to resign after a bad episode of frostbite, Zhenya jumped at the opportunity to take his place. He begged to be the one to do it, even though the work is far beneath his skillset.

Zhenya's official duties take only a small portion of his day. Collect samples, store them, send data, repeat. He can do it all in an hour, leaving him the rest of his time for other things.

Over the course of the first week, Zhenya sets up the satellite and radio equipment. He brought everything up on a sled, disassembled parts stacked carefully together. It's hard to touch the metal in the snow. He has to be careful with his hands. He cannot afford to end up like the last man in his place, losing portions of his appendages to the frost. He must stay, he must get his equipment set up and working to continue his search for the ship he lost.

"You didn't lose it," Sid's voice says in his mind while Zhenya tightens down the tethers holding the satellite steady. He knows that's what Sid would say. He would say it wasn't Zhenya's fault, that he shouldn't blame himself. "You aren't a communications engineer."

He is now, more or less. Zhenya has taught himself everything he can about long-distance communication and radio frequencies, amplification and bouncing signals. He has learned what he needs to know, and now he has the equipment to boot.

Zhenya's mind plays a cruel movie for him on repeat, memories of the hours and days after they lost touch with the crew of the Resolute, just after the ship entered Mars' orbit. Initial giddiness at the success in getting to the planet faded into confusion and worry when the radios suddenly went silent. 

"Resolute, this is home base," mission control repeated with increasing urgency. "Do you copy?"

Zhenya heard them say it, over and over again, while he chewed on his thumbnail, praying for Sid's voice to respond. Or anybody. The silence of not knowing what happened on Mars tortured him.

Mission control tried to reestablish contact for six days before the rover they diverted halfway across the surface of the planet arrived at the landing site.

The news called it a crash site-- that's what Zhenya remembers while he twists wires together and tightens connections. He remembers numbly listening to the American voices on the television, saying, "The remains of the Resolute have been discovered on Mars."

That was after Zhenya got escorted from the building for screaming at the mission controllers for giving up. They saw what he saw--a damaged lander, broken apart on the surface. That didn't mean they were dead. Just because the rover couldn't find them, it didn't mean they were gone.

Zhenya thinks he might be crazy, with as many theories as he's concocted to explain how they could be alive. It was only the lander they found, and then only pieces. Maybe the crew took the lander apart, crafted something with their endless ingenuity to bring them back up to the Resolute. The gravity on Mars wasn't like Earth. They could get back up without much resistance--they just needed a boost.

Or maybe, they're still on Mars. Perhaps they built a settlement with the tools available to them. They could be out there, waiting for rescue, and it breaks Zhenya's heart to think that their savior might never come.

He cannot allow that to happen.

Zhenya sits down at his Frankenstein's monster of a radio. He has to be careful about picking up the handset, as a cover for the wires was an added piece of weight he could not justify bringing. He must not touch the internal components when reaching. He picks up the handset in shaky fingers. It's been nine months since the last time someone tried to reach out with any realistic chance of reaching the crew if they're still out there. Zhenya breaks radio silence when he brings the handset up.

"Resolute, this is home base. Do you copy?"

*****

They designed the Resolute to take a joint mission to Mars, to study and set up infrastructure there for a more extensive scientific endeavor. Every country with a space program got involved. They brought in Zhenya to work on the habitat systems both on the ship and in the units. Sid was one of the eleven astronauts.

Zhenya can still remember how Sid filled out his flight suit, arms straining the fabric the day they were introduced. Zhenya nearly forgot to shake his hand, he was so busy staring. Sid smiled patiently. His hand was warm when Zhenya finally grasped it. Most astronauts had warm hands--a sign of good circulation.

"You're the one in charge of keeping me alive, eh?" Sid said--the first thing he ever said to Zhenya.

It was technically correct--Zhenya served as a piece of the greater effort, all of them working in concert to keep the astronauts alive. Sid made him feel like they were the only two in the whole program, as though Zhenya's sole purpose was to ensure Sid's safety. Zhenya pushed his glasses up his nose while his cheeks heated up and nodded. He thought Sid would move on, go meet the rest of the team, but he stayed. His natural smile warmed and softened--morphing from the political smile of a man who knew how to work the system to something so genuine.

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Malkin."

"Geno, please," Zhenya managed to say, forcing words past his lips. "Call me Geno."

Sid's smile got even brighter after that.

The Resolute had to be built in space. She was too big, too heavy to support her own weight in gravity, and it would take too much to get her out of the atmosphere. Instead, they tethered her skeleton to the international space station. They put her together, piece by piece, sending rockets up with equipment and supplies.

It took two years to build the ship and train the crew. It took far less than that for Zhenya to work up the nerve to ask Sid out.

"Dinner?" Sid asked, grinning curiously at him. "What, like a date?"

Zhenya shrugged. They were two months into the project. He saw Sid every day but didn't have much chance to speak with him. Zhenya arranged to bump into him coming back from physical training to ask. Sid's disbelieving smile rocked him back on his heels. Even if Sid said no, he thought Sid would be kind about it, not treat it as an absurdity.

"Maybe not," Zhenya mumbled, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Maybe just friends dinner."

"Oh, well, no thanks."

Zhenya deflated--he felt foolish for even asking. Of course, Sid had no interest. He was preparing for the most grueling physical and mental experience of his entire life, a mission that would take him away from Earth for nearly two years. Sid wasn't looking to forge new relationships on the planet he was leaving behind.

"A date, though. Absolutely."

Zhenya jerked his eyes up to see Sid's teasing expression, his shining eyes. Sid wasn't kidding. He wasn't messing with Zhenya. He wanted to go out on a date. Zhenya fought an urge to jump for joy and stammered through working out the details.

"Relax," Sid said, sidling in close to touch his arm. "Not everything needs to be planned. Pick me up at seven, and we'll play it by ear."

Zhenya walked away with his face flaming and his ears ringing and his glasses falling all the way down his nose, but his heart was soaring.

Playing it by ear led them to the beach, ordering Cuban sandwiches from a food truck. "I can't believe how warm it is here," Sid said, earning an aghast look from the man making the sandwiches--by Florida standards they were deep into winter.

"Yes, it's so nice," Zhenya agreed.

"Back home, the lakes are all frozen by now," Sid continued wistfully. "The ice is getting thick enough people are starting to skate, get some pond hockey going. The kids all take their sticks up, throw them on center ice, and divvy up teams. Everyone plays until their toes go numb in their skates."

The memory suddenly reminds Zhenya to move around, shake his feet out. Lying still on his cot with his mind wandering, he hasn't felt them in a while.

Zhenya kicks off his flannel blankets and swings his legs over. The first few steps feel like glass breaking apart in the soles of his feet and crackling up his legs. He gingerly lowers himself in front of the stove and opens the door to shove another log inside. He let the fire get too low.

When Zhenya can once again feel all of his toes, he pushes himself up and goes to the window. The wind outside the cabin howls, another winter storm blowing over the mountains. When he arrived in late fall, it already felt cold. Now, deep in winter, it's a whole new level of hell. It's almost flattering--the oldest mountains in the world are actively trying to kill him. It's terrifying to remember that the landing site on Mars is fifty degrees colder.

Sid loved to ask Zhenya, "What's the temperature on Mars right now?" It was his favorite parlor trick, as though Zhenya memorized and kept up with the weather patterns solely to amuse Sid. He particularly liked to accost Zhenya at work, under the pretense of seeing the progress on the systems that would keep him breathing.

"Big planet. Whole thing is not same temperature," Zhenya said, smirking when Sid swatted him. It always went like that, playing coy while Sid pouted. God, he was cute when he wasn't getting his way.

"You know what I mean. At the landing site. What's the temperature right now?"

Zhenya paged through a binder next to him. It had nothing to do with meteorological projections on Mars, but Sid couldn't read Russian so he would never know. "Probably like 10 degrees."

"Celsius?"

"Sid," Zhenya admonished--he never gave values in Fahrenheit. The scientific community would disown him, rightfully. Sid just liked to mess with him.

"Okay, 10 degrees. I can work with that."

"It's summer and daytime. Soon it will be minus 30."

"That's less great."

"In winter, it's minus 100, maybe more."

Sid's positive expression waned but buoyed right back up after a beat. "Good thing I've got you looking out for me, eh? Keeping me warm." He snuggled in close to Zhenya, bumping against his elbow with a silly smile.

Zhenya watches the snow blow in the wind with an invisible hand closing around his throat. He calculates again how long the crew could be safe on Mars. His environmental controls would last them practically forever, especially if they got their seeds to grow into plants. A terrarium would provide natural filtration and pure breathing air. Food would become an issue long before air, though some of the plants were edible. They could still be there, safe and waiting--the accidental first settlers on Mars.

*****

On the anniversary of the last time he heard Sid's voice, Zhenya cooks a serving of beans with jerky, same as every day. He barely abides happy anniversaries, never mind this upsetting one.

"The shrinks would tell us avoidance doesn't address the underlying problem," Sid's voice pipes up in his mind. The astronauts underwent a massive amount of psychological testing and care to ensure nobody went mental on the mission. The engineers did not experience the same.

A pity, since Zhenya knows hearing voices is probably a bad sign.

"Only if you start believing they're real," Sid laughs. Zhenya isn't sure that's what his laugh actually sounded like. It's been so long, maybe he's just making up a plausible chuckle.

It's been three months on the mountain, and it is now full winter, the coldest two months of the year. The wind cuts into Zhenya's skin when he ventures out. His fingers are stiff and sore all the time, his cheeks are always red, but his physical ailments are irrelevant compared to his failure. Three months of trying with no response, and his heart is beginning to lose hope.

Zhenya cleans his bowl and dries it, then forces himself to drink 16 ounces of water. The key to survival, both in the Urals and on Mars, is maintaining adequate hydration and sufficient caloric intake.

The water situation on Mars depends heavily on whether their drill survived. If they could tap into the underground reservoir, the crew and all subsequent missions will be set for the lifetime of the station and beyond. If not--

Zhenya closes his eyes. His mind conjures the rubble of the lander--parts scattered across red dirt. The drill would have been one of the first pieces of equipment they took down on arrival. Even if the crew survived, the drill might have been damaged. Without water, their chances of survival would have dropped to zero.

Zhenya's watch beeps, and he opens his eyes. He supposes it's a kind of desperate hope that returns him to his radio, where he sits and broadcasts.

"Resolute, this is home base. Do you copy?"

He still tries, convincing himself it is not against reason. The Resolute and her crew could have survived.

"Resolute, this is home base. Do you copy?"

He repeats the message six times a day, as he has for three months. The lack of response doesn't mean they're dead. It just means they can't hear him.

"Resolute, this is home base. Do you copy?"

He sits back from the microphone, records his attempt in the notepad beside it, and refuses to give up.

*****

The night before the launch, Sid took Zhenya out for sushi, bought a bottle of wine, even though he could only drink one glass, and slid a little box across the table. Zhenya picked it up gingerly, and Sid's hand snapped out to cover his before he could open it.

"Wait. I can wait. This--whole thing. It's two years before we can even--"

Zhenya pried his hand out from under Sid's and opened the box. It held a weighty, gold band. When he took it out, Sid's sigh audibly shook.

"I'm not trying to put you on the spot."

"No spot," Zhenya assured, mesmerized by the glimmering ring. "Sid--"

"I know, I know. It's dumb. I can ask again in two years. I will."

Zhenya reached for Sid's hand and propped the ring between Sid's index finger and thumb. Then he offered his left hand. Sid caught on, slowly growing a smile, and slid the ring onto Zhenya's finger.

"Promise me this isn't just a pity yes," Sid said, eyes shining too much to actually think that.

"Yes. Space is very danger."

"Very. I could die."

At the time, it felt like a joke. Zhenya laughed with Sid, who leaned in close and interlocked their fingers.

"If you're willing to pity-marry me, are you also down for pity sex?"

Zhenya snorted.

"Hey, I'll take what I can get."

"Yes, because I feel sorry only," Zhenya ribbed, and Sid pumped a fist like he won something.

Light as they tried to keep things, weighty emotions crept into bed with them. Zhenya savored the feel of Sid inside him, sharing lazy kisses and slow thrusts until everything just overflowed. Zhenya felt silly about the tears leaking out of his eyes when he came until he realized Sid was crying, too.

Zhenya woke up on the morning of the launch to take the astronauts to the space station, and found Sid already awake and smiling down at him.

"Morning."

Zhenya opens his eyes. He's shivering on his cot in his little shack on top of a mountain. It's dark, but something woke him up, a sound cutting through his slumber. Not Sid's voice from the dream--something else. 

A crack of static across the room from the radio cuts through Zhenya. He stares toward the speaker like it might have an answer. It crackles again, and Zhenya peels the covers back, carefully swinging his feet down to the floor.

He's halfway across the room when the static crackles with something else--a voice.

"--ome ba--"

Zhenya's feet roll to a careful stop. He holds his breath.

"Home ba--is--olute."

Zhenya sprints the final two steps and scrambles to pick up. He knows the voice. "Resolute, yes! Flower, is that you? Do you copy?"

"Geno--" Flower says, and then the signal breaks. In one word, Flower sounds ecstatic. When the signal cuts back in, Zhenya can hear other people cheering. "My friend--good to he--"

Zhenya quickly adjusts the frequency, and the static on the line abates. In the background, he clearly hears Phil call, "Ask him if there's a monkey president yet."

So that accounts for at least two, presumably safe and sound. Zhenya foregoes any semblance of radio etiquette, grips the handset hard, and prays while he says, "Flower, how is everyone?"

A crack of static makes his heart race, but it fades into Flower's warm chuckle. "Sid, you mean? We left him back on Mars to sow potatoes with the germs."

"Flower--" Zhenya presses, because he's held his breath for a year, and he can't take another moment.

"Hey," Sid's voice comes over the line, and Zhenya breaks. He never thought about how he would handle it if he actually heard Sid again. He only let himself prepare for the worst. He tests the strength of the handset he's gripping it so tightly as he ducks his head away from the cold air. It doesn't matter. His tears freeze on his cheeks. "Geno, oh my god. Hi."

"Sid," Zhenya says in a rush, more sob than speech. He touches the radio like he can cup Sid's cheek. "Hi."

*****

The ship is too damaged to be brought into the atmosphere. She would break apart, burn up upon entry. The Resolute was built in space, and she will die there. The astronauts meet with a shuttle team on the international space station, and from there, they're brought home.

They land on a runway in Cape Canaveral, like a plane coming in from a simple flight.

The artificial gravity in the Resolute helped the astronauts keep up their muscle strength and bone density. They still look weak and gaunt when they step shakily off the bus. Flower stumbles up to his children. The youngest was a little baby when he left. He doesn't remember Flower, but he hugs him anyway.

Sid comes out last, limping with a brace around his knee--an accident they prepared Zhenya for on the radio, something that happened to him on Mars. He'll never go up again. Not that Zhenya would let him.

Before the mission, their relationship was something of an open secret. Some people knew, but they were never overt. They worried it might cause strife, that their professionalism might be questioned, mainly if it got out to the press. Thinking of that, Zhenya hesitates to run up to Sid like some of the other astronauts' spouses.

Sid, apparently, has no such compunctions. He limps directly up to Zhenya and kisses him with a desperate noise.

"This is okay?" Sid asks with his hand locked around Zhenya's neck.

"Yes," Zhenya breathes.

"You don't have a new jealous boyfriend or something?" Sid asks even as he's moving to kiss Zhenya again.

The silly retort, a joke about dating some new, hot guy, dies in his throat. Zhenya doesn't want to even pretend he ever wanted anything but Sid back in his arms. "No," he says hoarsely. "It's always you."

*****

The three old friends gather in their familiar tavern, huddled around their customary drinks.

Pavel's car still runs, a fact he brings up every single time without prompting. "She's purring like a kitten."

"An asthmatic kitten?" Samuel asks.

"With a smoker's cough," Vladimir teases while Pavel sputters.

When the faux rage from their teasing dies, Samuel shares pictures of his grandson's second birthday party.

"He's getting so big," Pavel says, bright-eyed. "When will you get him on skates?"

"Oh, believe me, he's already asking. His father has him playing with hockey sticks already. I think skates are not far behind."

"I can't wait to see him play," Pavel says, and then his eyes predictably turn to Vladimir. "Speaking of, what's your youngest up to these days?"

The question once made Vladimir cringe, grimace, look away. Now, he sits back in his seat and smiles. "He got offered a job in America."

"Oh, going back to the space program, huh?"

"God, no. I don't think wild horses could drag him back into that life. Too many bad memories. No, the job is something to do with windmills, a company in Pittsburgh. He's looking for a house there, him and his husband."

"The boys are ready to settle down, huh?" Pavel teases.

Vladimir chuckles. "I think they've both had enough adventure. They're ready for quiet."

As he says it, thousands of miles away, Zhenya clasps Sid's hand in the living room of the house they just closed on. He hasn't allowed himself to get too excited, just in case, but now that they have the keys, all bets are off. Zhenya gestures around while talking about his decorating ideas. Sid follows him when he steps off with a slight limp--there are things in his knee that will never be the same--and bemusedly agrees with whatever Zhenya wants. It's banal and boring and everything they want out of life anymore.

**Author's Note:**

> So I went to a science museum where they had a giant spacesuit, and then I had like ten hours riding in the car to realize I once started writing an astronaut au. Figured I really ought to finish it instead of sitting here grumpy about not being able to watch the Pens game. 
> 
> I'm not linking to tumblr because I biffed the link last time. I'm around there and the username is the same.


End file.
